Shadows That Walk Beside Me
by IntoTheWilds
Summary: ONE-SHOT: Just another case, just another day, until Reid finds a lackey of an old enemy of Hotch's and the BAU waiting for him in his apartment, with a brutal message from his master...


_**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Criminal Minds or its Characters :)_

_**SUMMARY:** Just another case, just another day, until Reid finds a lackey of an old enemy of Hotch's and the BAU waiting for him in his apartment, with a brutal message from his master..._

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_"You never know how much you really believe anything until its truth or falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you."_

**-CL Lewis**

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Tossing his keys into the small dish by his door Dr Spencer Reid made his way sluggishly through his apartment rubbing the gathering grit from his eyes. The muscles in his shoulders were tense and he had the granddaddy of migraines coming on, but considering the case he had just come from was it any wonder? The raw images were still fresh in his mind and he knew without a doubt they'd be haunting his dreams tonight.

He could see them so vividly, children between the ages of five and ten, blonde, blue-eyed girls all violently raped and beaten to within an inch of their life before each and every one had their throats cut, blood left to paint a violent shade over their tiny broken bodies. He wasn't a violent person, but he came close to making an exception when they finally caught the Unsub. A cage was hardly enough for the sick bastard.

There were no messages for him on his answering machine and for that Spencer was grateful, tossing his mail down by the phone Spencer picked up a couple of texts and on his way to the bedroom he slipped them back onto their shelf. He could hear the odd sounds of late night traffic, some fool hollering out on the street and half way to his room something else tingled over his senses making the hair rise on the back of his neck.

Going rigid hazel eyes widening slightly Spencer reached for his gun palming the butt of his revolver. His heart began to race and cautiously he made his way toward his bedroom everything in him screaming that something wasn't right.

Later on Reid would possibly reflect on the stupidity of his actions, but with adrenaline coursing through his slender frame he unsheathed his weapon and reached for the bedroom door his gaze fixing on a shadow to his left a second too late. The blow came from nowhere smashing into his skull with a sickening crunch. Revolver flying from his grip, Spencer went down hard, crumpling like a ragdoll a groan slipping past his lips as a river of red gushed from a fresh gash on his temple.

Vision blackening the agent couldn't stay awake and all he saw before the abyss finally took him was a pair of Doc Martins and ratty jeans.

When Spencer came to the first thing he was aware of was the cold. His upper half was completely bare and his attacker had tied his wrists to the headboard of his bed. His arms were painfully stretched making him wince when he moved and with lucidity came a new sensation. Someone was sitting on him. Blinking through the haze Reid lifted his hazel eyes toward his attacker and couldn't help but cringe back.

He was a mammoth being, a lot bigger then Morgan, with a ratty mop of black hair, vampire white skin and menacing green eyes. A dangerous sneer curved his lips.

"Well, well," the man crooned eyes glimmering darkly, "you're finally awake gorgeous."

"W-who are you?" Reid demanded to know sluggishly, "What d-do you want?"

"Well," he answered casually resting his elbows on Spencer's belly as if it was simply a casual get together, "I was just gonna rob your ass, but then in you come and well, I just couldn't resist some fun."

Some fun, what the hell exactly did that mean? Spencer couldn't help the shudder that ran the length of him; he wasn't ashamed to admit it he was without a doubt absolutely petrified. Humming to himself the sweaty fool above him shifted and Spencer's blood ran cold when a knife was pressed firmly against his jugular.

"My name is Christopher by the way, but the peeps call me Kit," Kit grinned manically, "you can call me Kit too, while you scream. I don't even need to ask your name Dr Spencer Reid of the F.B.I. Man did I pick the jackpot of apartments huh?"

How did he...? Shit, his credentials had been in his pocket and no doubt Kit had searched him. Hazel eyes darting this way and that, trying really hard not to draw attention to the cold blade ghosting over his pale skin, Reid tried to cut through his terror and use his profiling skills to get him out of this mess.

"Kit, you said so yourself, you had only intentions of robbing me. Do you really want to add killing a federal agent to that? You're more likely to get yourself caught that way!"

Kit blinked and to Spencer's surprise threw his head back and laughed the sound harsh and not the slightest bit sane, "Oh Spencey, I'm not gonna kill you. I'm just gonna leave you a little messed up. Robbing? That was just a cover kiddo, well a straight up lie more like, the docs say I've trouble with the whole truth thing, but hey. Ya see, my boss wants to send a message to your Boss Agent Hotchner and I get to choose my methods so long as I don't kill ya."

Spencer went perfectly still the colour draining from his face. Wait, this wasn't mere thievery? He was going to be a crude warning for Hotch? Regardless of the knife Spencer decided words were useless. Kit was not going to listen to him, not when he clearly had his orders, that and the fact those green eyes held nothing remotely human.

The belt tying his wrists bit into his flesh leaving welts and Spencer suddenly jerked and yelped when the serrated edge of Kit's knife pierced his skin, not deeply, but enough to draw blood and bring pain the red warm against the cool metal.

"Ah, ah Spencey," Kit chided pocketing his blade before moving and reaching for something Spencer couldn't see.

Minutes later the distinct stench of lighter fluid filled Spencer's nostrils making him cough and no amount of wriggling could stop Kit from pouring it over his skin. Heart pounding against his ribcage, Reid heard the scratch of a match and suddenly all he knew was pain.

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His feet couldn't carrying him fast enough through the stark halls of the hospital, he barely heard the nurse telling him Reid was in the burn unit. Good God! Why was he in the burn unit?! Down, down Hotch ran until his breath was coming quick, heart pounding in his chest. Somewhere in the back of his head he knew he should've contacted the rest of the team, but first he needed to know that the youngest of their team was going to be okay.

"Dr Spencer Reid," Hotch called skidding to a halt beside a flustered looking Doctor pulling out his credentials, "he was admitted an hour ago, I am SSA Aaron Hotchner and I need to know the condition of my Agent."

The young blonde woman Dr Caroline Relihan fixed her glasses and took a good look at his ID before answering with an exhausted sigh, "we lost him twice before getting him stable. Dr Reid is in treatment right now, we're pumping him full of fluids and antibiotics, but a skin graft is looking like a possibility, we'll know more once the dead skin is removed."

Hotch couldn't help it, pitching sideways he slapped a hand against the cold wall and closed his eyes in an attempt to get himself under control. Oh God despite the doctors sending him down here he had prayed there had been a mistake, "Burned," he croaked, "someone actually burned him?"

"Yes," Relihan said softly watching him carefully for fear he would faint, "with lighter fluid and a match, the affects were beside him when the paramedics found him in his apartment. I don't understand it, but his attacker supposedly called it in after dousing the fire he started and the only reason we knew to call you was because a note was left with him."

Reaching into her pocket Caroline pulled out the letter in question and handed it to the Agent. Someone had had the foresight to slip it into a Ziploc bag and with shaky hands Hotch ran his gaze over the hastily scrawled words.

_.'Consider this a warning Agent Hotchner,_

_Next time your team won't be so lucky.'_

There was no signature, but Hotch didn't need one. Even as his blood ran cold as ice, he knew who had written the letter, a killer who simply referred to himself as Phoenix. The son of a bitch had been murdering poor unfortunate men between the ages of twenty-five and thirty for almost a decade and a half. In his years at the BAU, Hotch had come close to nailing him only for Phoenix to simply vanish for all intents and purposes.

Until now so it would seem, but why he was targeting Hotch and his team, Hotch didn't know.

"H-how bad," Hotch just about wheezed out eventually, his pallor chalky white.

"Third degree," Relihan answered softly trying to ease the blow, "the burns start from the left side of his neck, covering a severe majority of his chest and stops just at the top of his left thigh. There are the odd second degree burns along his left arm that will most likely scar, but nowhere near as bad as the rest."

"How likely is the skin graft?"

"Considering the damage and my personal opinion?" Caroline questioned gently, "One hundred percent necessary for Dr Reid to survive this ordeal."

Hotch could barely breathe, a horrible roaring in his ears and somewhere that voice was screaming at him, telling him the whole damn thing was his fault.


End file.
